Melting Point
by bravefan
Summary: A look at what it finally takes for Sonny to warm up to Clay (literally). Alternatively titled three times Sonny calls Clay an idiot and one time he doesn't.
1. Chapter 1

"You're an idiot you know that."

"Shut up and keep walking" Clay grouses back, his exasperated response mostly muffled and just barely decipherable under the t-shirt he has wrapped over his nose and mouth and the heavy part of Sonny's arm that's draped around his neck.

Sonny isn't sure if you can call this walking. At least on his part.

Clay is doing most of the work because Sonny's left leg is pretty much a useless wooden peg leg. In fact if the kid wasn't propping him up and dragging his sorry ass along he would be reduced to crawling around on all fours like one of those tripod dogs that seem to be all the rage these days for those bleeding hearts to adopt.

"Seriously Clay, put me down and get the hell out of here."

Clay doesn't bother dignifying that one with a response. Or maybe he can't, the exertion of trying to drag a 200-ish pound Texan taking up all of his energy. Instead the smaller man just grunts and readjusts his position stubbornly .

A wave of familiar annoyance surges through him. He didn't really expect Clay to listen. Actually wouldn't expect any frogman to acquiesce that easily on the idea of leaving a brother behind.

But Sonny is also a big enough person to admit (in private) that most anything the kid does ignores him just a bit more than it probably should. Ray's tried to have several conversations with him about why that is and Sonny has so far firmly refused to have any part of them.

Adding insult to injury, on multiple fronts, is the fact that Spenser is already hurt and is probably making it worse with this muleheaded hero complex he's got going on. It doesn't matter how much he may or may not genuinely dislike the kid it doesn't mean he wants to see him suffer. And this has to be hurting.

It can't feel good on Clay's broken ribs. Or at least that was Trent's best guess before the newbie popped back up and shook off the medic's exam claiming he was fine. No one necessarily bought it, but they also didn't have a whole lot of choice. The danger of the bullets and broken bones taking a quick backseat to the more imminent threat of the out of control wildfire now racing towards their position. A quick confirmation that Clay's vest caught the slug had been all there was time for before the team had to high tail it out of there.

They had hauled ass. The bullets, local militia, hell even the actual mission objective took a sudden backseat to the unexpected foe that was fast moving and ever growing and quickly forced their retreat. It's sharp crackling cries of victory could be heart as building after building fell victim to its unstoppable force. Not to mention it's perhaps most underrated weapon, the smoke racing ahead, enveloping all in its path. The ultimate first wave attack , obscuring and suffocating its foes in the street, slowing their pace and making it nearly impossible to know which way was up or down, out or in, or to escape the flames following closely behind.

The ISR was the first victim to fall. The coms died an honorable death next, getting taken out shortly after by the heat, or the smoke, or some combination of the two.

It left them blind, deaf and socked in by smoke. Left to rely on their own memories of plans and unerring sense of direction to get themselves out of this unprecedented mess. Sonny was just glad he wasn't the one trying to navigate them through it. He was happy to bring up the rear, even with the flames licking at his heels as an urgent reminder that they needed to keep pressing forward.

He had to admit that Spencer had done an admirable job of keeping up to the grueling pace the team was setting. Bulletproof or not, willing to admit it or not, Sonny knows first hand how much those ribs had to be hurting him on their flight out.

It's why Clay was a few steps slower than normal and also why he was the only one who noticed when Sonny went down hard.

He blames the limited visibility and the smoke making his eyes tear up for why that pothole seemingly came out of nowhere. All Sonny knows is that one second he was running and the next he was falling, knee twisting with a distinctive pop, a sharp breath stealing pain and then the whole leg went disturbingly limp and numb and he ended up face first in the dirt. ACL, MCL, FCL, GCL? He is no doctor, all he knows is he couldn't put any weight on it which is kind of a key requirement for getting up off his ass.

The rookie ignored Sonny's attempts to wave him off and instead slung the Texan's arm around his shoulder and started hauling him along after the team. He ignored the curses, gasps of pain, and even a few insults on his manhood and family tree.

And now, of course, the stubborn ass won't let it go when his tactical superior is telling him to. Spencer ignores the orders just as he ignores the blatant truth that Sonny isn't going to be able to walk fast enough, help or no help. At this pace they aren't going to catch up and they aren't going to outrun the flames quickly outpacing them and threatening to overtake them.

Still the stubborn brat is persisting. Living in denial and trying to drag them both out through sheer force of will. If he would just listen and go, he might still have a chance to make it out on his own.

But no. He has to play the hero. Has to be the big dog.

And now they both are going to die.

And it's Sonny's fault.

He's not sure which of those parts pisses him off more.

Eventually Spenser's strength runs out or maybe he finally realizes the futility of continuing their flight. The smoke is so thick they cant even see where they are going. It's getting increasingly difficult to breathe down on the ground so they find an open building, a tall parking structure and climb in search of fresh air and an escape from the flames that are quickly hemming them in from all sides.

Clay manages to haul him up to the very top floor, to what maybe used to be the roof and then eases Sonny down to the ground. He staggers a few feet away and then collapses down to the ground in exhaustion.

There is a beat of silence and Sonny gratefully uses it to fish out a dart of morphine in the hopes of tamping down the agony the jostling has re-awoken in his traitorous limb. He leans his head back against the wall keeping his leg still and letting the pain settle and gradually subside until he can finally focus on anything past it again.

Clay also seems to have recovered somewhat because from his spread eagle position on the ground he tosses out "You need to eat more salads"

Well now that's just hurtful.

Or at least it would be from almost anybody else.

He doesn't value Young Spencer's opinion enough yet to give a rat's ass what he thinks about his body composition.

And besides that its blatantly untrue. There ain't no room in his diet for most things green. And he firmly resents the implication that he needs to shed a few pounds.

"This here is a fine physical specimen, the likes of which your scrawny ass can't begin to appreciate. I could whoop your ass any day. One leg or not."

Spenser just waves a middle finger in the air from his back. Still heaving heavy breaths. A few seconds later Clay pulls himself up to sit against the wall with a pained grimace, hand sliding to protect his ribs and brace himself as he finally pushes himself up. Once on his feet he does a quick tour around the roof and then finding nothing, no exit routes, no threats they can do anything about, he finally makes his way over with the clear intention of playing doctor on Sonny's leg.

Oh hell no.

Sonny waves him off more forcefully this time.

"Don't bother, there are bigger problems to worry about right now."

Spenser aborts his movement closer and stands in place for a second, staring down at where Sonny is propped up against the wall. Under the soot, and the t-shirt Clay's turned into some sort of attempt at a mask, there's an unreadable expression that Sonny can't quite decipher.

Sonny disregards the small pang of guilt that races through him and the brutally honest assessment that yeah, he probably would have let any one else on the team take a look at his leg. But he isn't ready to go there with Spenser. Not by a long shot.

He waits a beat and then ruthlessly doubles down, trying one more attempt to make the kid see reason. He clears his throat, waits until Clay makes eye contact, and then calmly and without any emotion says,

"You should go...No point in both of us dying. Get your ass back up and get out of here. Use those superskills you love to tell us all to save your ass about before it's too late."

This time Sonny can physically see his face fall, and recognizes the flash of hurt that is visible for a split second before Clay's defenses kick in and the kicked puppy look disappears replaced by a more familiar mask that slides back into place. Its the stubborn expression he recognizes well from locking horns with their rookie on many occasions over the last few months and it makes it a whole lot easier to hold firm to his resolve when the kid goes right back to being the insufferable know it all that's been riding his ass for weeks. Chasing at his heels. Trying to prove he knows better and can do better than the rest of them.

And sure enough Clay snipes back with that calm, infuriatingly smug certainty that drives him crazy.

"Go where Sonny. Hate to break it to you but it's too late now." He gestures around at the smoke that's followed them to the roof "You are stuck with me now".

The smart ass has a point. The thick black smoke is continuing to thicken and rises up all around them now, even way up here. Clearly the flames have found this building too. And even if Clay tried to leave there is no telling how far he would get.

"Don't worry I'll stay on my side of the roof and try not to inconvenience you too much as we die."

With that final jibe he shuts up and leaves to hunker down further along the wall, not too far away that Sonny can't see or hear him sulking but just far away to make his point.

Ugh, so dramatic.

Aggravatingly immature.

Petulant little shit.

Sonny calls Clay a few more names under his breath but manages to resist the urge to keep arguing and toss insults back and forth for a few more minutes like they are accustomed to doing.

If nothing else they should probably save their breath. Both of them.

So Sonny ignores the lump of sulking newbie in favour of doing something useful. On finding a way to contact the rest of the team. To reach out to any one of his brothers who he would give pretty much anything to have back here right now for several reasons, if nothing else not to be stuck alone with this thorn in his side.

Sonny keeps trying the radio but gets absolutely nowhere.

After a few failed calls, Clay can't help himself from weighing in on his teammates efforts, just like usual.

"They can't hear you. You don't even know if they made it out. And if they did...our radios are shot in this."

Sonny, works his jaw and prays for patience and a strong beverage and somehow manages not to say the first response that comes to mind. Or the second. Both probably would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap by his Gran-ninny if she heard them.

"They made it out." He finally grunts out. Refuses to consider any other option really. "And they are coming back for us"

"There's no way they can make it back in this." Again a calm certainty, something that Spencer thinks he knows to be a fact. One that he is apparently resigned to. And in any other situation, any other team, Clay probably would be right.

"You don't know Jason Hayes like I do."

Sonnt finally discards his radio and flicks on his strobe light on his helmet. It's probably wishful thinking that it might penetrate through the smoke above them but he's got nothing to lose at this point.

Kid may think he knows everything. But he clearly doesn't know Bravo yet. Clearly doesn't know what it's like to have people you can count on and for the first time he actually pities Spencer a little.

It occurs to him a moment later that he didn't get a snappy response back to his last statement and he peeks over to see the blond doubled over in a coughing fit that sounds like he's trying to expel his lungs.

Clay finishes and wraps his arm more securely around his ribcage and takes a few hitching breathes.

Sonny is no expert but something doesn't sound right there

The coughing starts back up again after a few seconds and it belatedly occurs to Sonny that the combination of broken ribs plus exertion plus smoke probably isn't an ideal health situation.

Clay catches him watching and looks away. Making an obvious effort to stop coughing and he mostly succeeds out of pure stubbornness except for the small audible wheezes he can't completely stifle.

Sonny rolls his eyes.

Fine be that way. Of course GI Joe Ken Doll is invincible everything. Silly him.

He turns his attention back to things that actually matter. To this shitty situation they have somehow found themselves in. Smoke climbs, all around them, wafting up past the half walls in big thick plumes of dark smoke. And beneath him the temperature rises, heating the ground underneath his butt and telling him the structure beneath him has been compromised.

It's probably still a few floors down, but how long before the fire burns through those?

Is it enough time for Bravo to locate them and get back or is this going to be their last stand?

The big question is who will win the race, the smoke, the flames or Bravo team. He is putting his money on Bravo, but he's surprised Mr. Pessimist over there isn't more concerned about the first two possibilities seeing how he's written off his team.

He would fully expect the rooke to be trying to play hero and find another escape plan or if nothing else try for some sort of deaths bonding door moment between the two of them.

But when he glances over he finds Clay's eyes drifting closed

Shit.

"Hey! Stay awake!"

Clay's eyes shoot open and he mumbles "I'm awake" and glares at his teammate. Sonny isn't entirely reassured because it lacks the heat and witty response he has come to expect from Bravo 6 and even more concerningly Spenser's eyes are already slipping shut again.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Sonny is rapidly racking his brain for anything he knows about smoke inhalation.

Unfortunately it's not much and from what he does know there isn't much he can actually do.

Remove from smoke. Nope

Provide oxygen. Nope

All he can really do is try to keep the kid awake until the team can find them. Trent will know what to do. He can fix this.

"So that professor of yours …"

Clay's eyes peel open again to stare at him questioningly, with no small level of disbelief.

Sonny grimaces, ok yeah that was a lame.

But in his defense he's starting to feel some of the effects of the smoke too, and his leg is throbbing incessantly, so cut him some slack for not being the best conversationalist.

Clay somewhat does. Coughing harshly, adjusting his t-shirt mask for whatever good it's doing, and then responding breathily.

"What about her?"

Crap. Where was he going with this. Even Sonny doesn't know. He was grasping at straws.

"She the real deal?"

Again he feels like Clay is studying him, looking for the angle. The trick.

"What does that even mean Sonny?" He says blearily and this time not bothering to hide his frustration or exhaustion.

He can't really blame the kid for his churlish response. Sonny hasn't exactly taken any interest in his personal life often, or well ever before, except for the small bits he's stored away to use in insults when it suits him.

It's a fair assumption on Clay's part that this is just another jibe. And while normally the kid is more than up for the task of volleying back it doesn't look like the Spencer has it in him right now.

The conversation dies there and Sonny is at a loss of how to rekindle it.

He's said maybe less than 100 words to the kid since he's started and probably 75 of them have been "case or beer" and the remainder have been used to put him in his place.

He's kinda regretting that right now. Wishing he had more topics to touch on. More things to talk about with his teammate.

He knows the kid reads books, he just never paid attention to what type ….. and his dad. Everyone knows about his dad. Doesn't think either of those topics are going to help the situation.

Oh and he knows what kind of beer he drinks.

It's a sad state of affairs that his newest teammates been on the team for almost two months now and that's all he knows apart from what tactical skills and languages he is adept in because Sonny is too much a professional not to have familiarized himself with those.

He can tell you more than he ever wants to know about Ray's large extended family down to the aunts and uncles and cousins even once and twice removed.

And the exact size and location (and story behind) a tattoo that Trent pretends doesn't exist.

Hell he knows more about Cerberus and his routines than he does about Bravo's rookie.

Sonny stifles a cough, his own chest starting to get tighter and to protest the shit he is probably inhaling with each breath. It's clear they are in trouble now. That their safe refuge is no longer that. The smoke is still increasing and more and more of it is getting in to his mouth and nose and his eyes making everything excruciatingly irritated.

He readjusts his own attempt at a mask for whatever good it's doing and opens his canteen and dumps most of the remaining water on his face trying to rinse his eyes.

Dehydration is going to be the least of his problems soon.

He offers the canteen in Clay's direction and blinks through the blurriness to find Clay slumped over further, clearly no longer awake.

A surprising amount of panic courses through him.

Their guys are coming and there needs to be two of them left to pick up. He may not like the kid but Sonny Quinn is loyal to his teammates. Even the ones he can't stand. And besides Clay doesn't get to go and be the hero here. Not for Sonny. He won't allow that.

"Spenser!"

Clay, stirs and straightens up slightly at his call. His eyes blink open, and fix lazily on Sonny. He blinks a few times, interspersed with some muted coughs and a rattling strained inhalation that scares Sonny to his core.

And then his eyes start to drift shut again.

Dammit.

"Clay. Hey, wake up Clay!"

This time he doesn't get any response.

Fuck.

Sonny inches himself painstakingly over, one butt slide at a time. Cursing the stubborn shit for the distance between them and highly grateful that any ISR is most definitely blocked out by the smoke and can't catch him doing this.

It's excruciating. Each tug on his knee sends unbearable shockwaves in both directions up and down his leg. But he keeps on going dragging his useless limb along with him until he gets over next to Clay.

By the time he gets there he is panting with exertion. His own chest telling exactly how unhappy it is with the smoke it's taken in too.

He reaches out and shakes his teammates shoulder and gets no response

"Come on, don't be weak… wake up."

"You still owe me more cases of beer."

Despite his best attempts to provoke a response, the man is well and truly unconscious now. No sternum rub, no shoulder pinch, not even an insult, will wake him and Sonny's heart rate skyrockets until he finds a pulse.

Sonny squints hard through the smoke, his vision traitorously distorting on him and his head swimming. He thinks he can see Clay's chest rising, but has to rest a hand just to be sure. The blond's respirations are definitely too shallow and too rapid, but they are there so he tries to take comfort in that. He reaches over and readjusts Clay's t-shirt mask, trying to make a better seal to keep out the smoke. It's probably a lost cause at this point but it makes him feel better to do something.

Then he settles down next to the kid, leaning back against the wall and giving in to the wave of fatigue telling him to rest for a second. When his own eyes start to drift shut he forces them back open with difficulty and straightens back up again. That was a terrible idea. He needs to stay awake. It's his turn on watch now because even gimpy and useless he's all Spenser has now.

He tries his radio again. Nothing.

Well shit.

He wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of this. Seriously though, of all the ways to go out. All the bullets, s-vests, hairy situations and fucked up missions he's somehow survived. This is how it ends. Just him and the rookie, on a roof.

He can hear the flames now crackling closer below them. Knows it's only a matter of time before the roof goes down and takes them with it into a fiery end.

If they go down it will probably make it hard for Bravo to find them. Amongst other more immediate problems they will have like surviving the fall and the flames.

He should really be more concerned about all of that. But he's so damn tired, and his chest is so heavy. When the first flames start to peek through the corner of the roof over by the ventilation shaft is he is surprisingly calm about it.

So flames it is. The winner in a photo finish.

In a last act of defiance he reaches over and tries to shift Clay, pulling his unconscious teammate over so that he is further away from the flames creeping towards them.

"Jeez kid, and you said I eat too much" Heavy and limp and Sonny only really succeeds in pulling him part of the way over and Clay's upper body ends up lying across his lap.

if the flames are going to find them then they are going to find him first. Deep down he knows it won't make any difference, but it does to him.

The roof and the flames are spinning all around him now. He closes his eyes against the movement and dizziness. He knows he should re-open them but its such a relief from the stinging and heat that he lets it go for just a little longer. He will open them in a second. Resume his post.

The last thing he hears is the familiar thrumming of a helicopter above them.

He smiles softly as everything grows dim and dark.

See kid. I told you they'd come.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The next time Sonny wakes up years of experience tell him he's in the hospital. Before he even opens his eyes he knows it. All the things he hates about hospitals are there, the beeping, the wires attached to him, the fuzzy feel that tells him they drugged him with something, the antiseptic smell that reminds him of a nursing home and the distant sounds of voices he doesnt recognize registers on his senses and immediately puts him on edge.

For all of those reasons he usually works hard to avoid trips to the infirmary or base hospital. His team knows that and God bless Trent he can usually be bribed to take care of most things on his own. Whatever happened, it must have been pretty bad for that not to be an option.

That thought has him prying his eyes open and blinking through the blurriness to try to focus on his body.

His gaze focuses on a large clunky knee brace and his head goes back to the pillow in exasperation. By the size of that thing it's going to take a while to heal.

He glares at it and then jumps slightly when a familiar voice from the chair against the wall interrupts his mental calculations about recovery time and how quickly he can convince the physio to sign off on his return.

"It's not as bad as it looks. Dislocated knee cap, sprained MCL. Docs popped it back in and said you should be back up and around on it in a few weeks. They just wanted to immobilize it for a while to make sure the knee cap stayed in place and you didn't try to do anything stupid right off the bat. Not sure where they got that idea from"

Ray's tone is light and teasing, and it initially brings him relief. Well that's not too bad then.

Then he continues on. "They said your lungs are doing really well. Only minimal smoke inhaled. They gave you some Oxygen while you were out."

He frowns at that. Smoke?

And then suddenly the fog clears and the events leading up to his current regrettable position come back in a delayed rush of memories. The embarrassment of falling, the kid dragging his ass, the smoke catching up to them, the flames coming through, Spencer unconscious…

Fuck.

Clay.

He wants to ask. But also doesn't want to. For several reasons. Maybe Ray will get to it on his own because he continues to prattle on updating him on the team after they got separated.

"Jason is fine, a few more grey hairs. We really don't make this easy on him some days."

Sonny nods in agreement…. Okay but Clay.

"Trent too. A few minor burns that he ignored because he was busy trying to take care of other people and forgot about himself. Par for the course"

Come on Ray just get to it.

"Brock escaped pretty unscathed. Nothing new there. Not sure where he has horseshoes stuffed up but I swear the flames were allergic to him."

"Oh and Cerberus is just fine as well. Don't think anything really phases that dog. Not even getting a little bit of fur singed off now and then."

Ok now he knows Ray is just fucking with him when he goes to updating him on the damn dog before Bravo 6.

Asshole.

He huffs out a breath of frustration and feels his lungs protest. There's a residual tightness telling him they are still not quite happy with the situation. And if his are this gross, and Clay inhaled more smoke than he did trying to drag Sonny's useless ass around…

Finally he resigns himself to asking "Spenser?"

"Oh right, sorry"

Oh right my ass. Ray's smirk tells him it was anything but an accident.

"He's doing alright, been in and out of it. He inhaled a lot of smoke."

There's that guilt again

"But they've got him on some breathing treatments and said it should sort itself out pretty quick."

Sonny's stomach unclenches slightly at that. He tries not to visibly react to the news because Ray is studying him carefully. Sonny can't quite understand the strange smile on his face until he tries to think about the last thing he remembers and more details come back in a wave of desperation, emotions and confusion. He remembers his addled brain at the end trying to do something to save his teammate and the resulting position the team probably found them in. Clay practically in Sonny's lap with the Texan draped over him protectively.

There is an awkward silence for a moment and then finally Ray offers.

"Do you want to go see him?"

Sonny doesn't know how to answer that. Not really. But also kind of yes. His last vision of the kid wasn't good and the responsibility for that is still eating him up a bit. He's not sure he will truly be able to relax until he sees with his own eyes that his mistake didn't have too high a cost.

"Probably should, whatever. Beats sitting in this room." He casually offers.

Ray agrees, matching his indifferent tone "Yah probably should, seeing as he did save your ass and all."

Sonny glowers at him. Some of the effect is lost as the nurse brings in a wheelchair and has to help him transfer to it and adjusts some of the gadgets until his practically mechanical limb is carefully positioned and secured onto a semi raised raised platform.

He also can't really argue with the premise of it. If Clay hadn't come back for him he would be some sort of barbequed meat right now. Burnt to a crisp, charred perfectly, or maybe just a very smoked piece of jerky. There is certainly no way he would have outrun the flames long enough on his own with his stupid knee.

He isn't quite sure what to do with that fact.

Jason is sitting with Clay when Ray wheels Sonny into the room.

This kid is sleeping, propped up almost into a sitting position in the bed and with a large bulky mask on that eats up most of his face.

Jason turns to face him with tired, smoke irritated eyes and probably a few new wrinkles that Sonny and Clay helped put there this time. He holds out a hand and Sonny takes it, clasping it firmly with all the emotions and gratitude that men like them don't actually ever say if they can help it.

They share a silent nod and then go back to watching Clay.

Sonny finds himself gratefully marking each large, smooth rise of their rookies chest

He doesn't have to wait long for Clay's eyes to flutter a few times and then finally make it all the way open.

Spencer's eyes make a tour around the room, focusing on Jason, on Ray and then on Sonny in the wheelchair for a split second, assessing him head to toe, before darting away skittishly as if he might be caught.

Sonny clears his throat and the kid focuses back on him. "Told ya they'd come."

Clay rolls his eyes under the heavy Darth Vader mask thing he has going on and then goes back to staring anywhere but Sonny.

He let's Jason and Ray take over driving most of the conversation after that. Both men have the good graces not to push anything or talk about the situation they found themselves in. But he's sure that will come later. Once they are both back on their feet Bravo will be happy to make some jokes, rub it in a bit. Poke and prod and see what progress if any was made.

Sonny isn't really sure what his answer to that will be. He knows the kid saved his life. Knows he was loyal to a fault and to his own detriment, and it might be the first redeeming quality he's seen in his teammate. And he knows that he is both begrudgingly appreciative and annoyed by it.

He just doesn't know where it leaves them.

The kid is probably still going to annoy the shit out of him, thats a given. He is still probably going to operate with an insufferable confidence and a swag that says he can do everything better than any of the rest of them. If anything this incident is probably going to make that worse now.

Before he can figure it out it's time to go.

Clay is visibly flagging and Sonny won't admit it but he's ready to go back to his bed as well and prop his leg back up on that comfy pile of cushions and maybe use that morphine button to kill his pounding headache

Ray goes to wheel him out

"Wait."

He gestures forward with his head and Ray pretends to be confused for a second. Damn Perry is having way too much fun with this. Probably payback for all the bitching and moaning he's had to listen to over the last few months from Bravo 3 about their rookie.

Finally after a few more head tilts get him nowhere he has to actually spell it out. "Can you bring me a bit closer?" before his wheelchair gets pushed back towards the bed.

Clay's eyes watch his approach with a sleepy guarded expression.

When Sonny is finally close enough he leans forward and lifts a fist and holds it out to Clay.

There is a pause, and he wonders if the man is going to leave him hanging.

But then Clay returns the gesture and gives him a bump.

Sonny ducks his head and says "first time the new guy saves someone's bacon. That's a case a beer right there."

Clay's eyes hold on to his and there might be some sort of smile.

And then Ray wheels him out.

Once they are out the door and just out of ear shot he can practically hear their number two formulating something to say about that all.

"Hey Ray"

"Yeah"

"Shut it."

0-0-0-0-0

Sonny does eventually make good on that case of beer. Once Clay is out of the hospital and Sonny is back up on both feet again h he shows up at Spenser's door with a case of the micro hoppiest foreign crap he can find, and a 6 pack of real beer for himself of course. He ain't drinking that shit.

Sonny invites himself in and heads to the couch where he commandeers the remote to put on the game. If he and this rookie are going to find any common ground, football might as well be the best place to start. And if they can't even do that then maybe it really is a lost cause.

But at least he will be able to say he tried. Sonny figures he at least owes him that.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

_So this was supposed to be a oneshot, but then I couldn't decide between a couple different ideas. Now as you see by the description, you get three. At least when I squeeze in the time to finish up the other two._


	2. Chapter 2

"How the hell did I get stuck with you again?"

His question is mostly rhetorical. A failed attempt to be angry and assign some blame for this clusterfuck of situation rather than deal with any of the other emotions that Sonny Quinn simply doesn't do.

And even more than that it's an indictment of some God somewhere with a wicked sense of humour who apparently enjoys testing him these days. To be more specific these 341 days since the six foot-one, blond haired, constant source of trouble below him joined the team (But who's counting). For some reason whatever higher power there is out there enjoys making sure Sonny always has a front row seat to the chaos he causes, and unfortunately being fate's designated bitch means he is once again the one who has to clean up the mess.

If he's honest with himself he doesn't actually mind so much anymore and is actually having a harder and harder time trusting that job to anyone else these days. That point was driven home a couple weeks ago when Clay got loaned out to Romeo team for a mission that required his linguistic specialties. Sonny initially rolled his eyes at Jason putting up a fuss about one of his guys going out without any back up from Bravo Team. Told himself Spenser was a grown ass man and a full fledged Tier 1 operator now and that everyone else on the team was overreacting. And yet when the mission dragged on past 3 days he found himself jumpy and agitated for no reason and couldn't seem to stop scanning the tarmac every few minutes until finally the chopper came back with the kid unscathed (or close enough).

This time they didn't get so lucky though and the really annoying thing is that he can't even blame it on another team. Or even another member of his own team. He was the one who was supposed to be watching Clay's back. He was the one who failed.

"I think the last time I got stuck with you if you recall."

Clay's voice distracts him from beating himself up and the fact that it's actually a fair point makes Sonny exhale in relief. It's more reassuring than he wants to admit that Spenser can still banter back right now and even make an attempt at his usual shit eating grin.

If he closes his eyes and doesn't overthink it, they could just be bickering like normal, in the team room, on the plane, or more and more frequently at the bar.

It's what they both need right now.

Which means he has to play his part. So he swallows hard and forces his voice to come out steady and in what he hopes sounds like his regular tone "Maybe. But I told you better. You just didn't listen. You were still pretty much that cocky little shit from green team who knew better than everyone. Especially me. "

Clay coughs out something between a laugh and a groan as Sonny re-adjusts his efforts to stem the concerning amount of blood making a hasty exit out of his stomach and running unimpeded through Sonny's fingers.

That minor little detail is the one thing making it real hard to pretend there is nothing wrong here.

"Still ...know better ...than you" Clay grits out.

Sonny chooses to ignore that and lets the kid have it, for now. Pity points if you will. They can revisit that delusional logic at a later date. Right now he has more important things to worry about like trying to get a hold of their damn team considering it doesn't look like they are going to make their exfil window.

"Bravo 3 to Bravo 1?"

His answer is a resounding empty line. Nothing. Bupkiss

Where the hell are they?

He doesn't realize he's actually voiced that thought out loud until Clay tries to placate him.

"They will come…."

"You shut up. You don't get to have an opinion on this right now" he fires back hotly.

Clay's probably right, especially since its something Sonny himself drilled into the newbie's head early on. Bravo always comes through.

They were supposed to be at the rally point three minutes ago which means Bravo will soon realize there is a problem and come looking for them. So yes Clay is right, they are probably already on their way.

But he sure as shit isn't going to admit it out loud, especially not when the genius went and get himself stabbed. And then it true moronic fashion decided not to mention it until he almost passed out a few miles later.

"Fricking Idiot runs around bleeding and doesn't say anything about it." He raises his voice and purposefully mutters loud enough for Clay to hear the insult.

"We had to... get out of there."

"Yeah, maybe. But out of there, and hoofing it almost 3 miles until you collapse are two entirely different things."

"I didn't... collapse...just needed a rest."

"Save your damn breath. That dog hunts about as well as lassie drowning in the damn well"

By some miracle Clay seems to listen, and Sonny busies himself trying to extricate another pack of gauze from out of his bag one handed. He struggles to rip the thing open and doesn't dare remove his one hand from where it's kind of holding Clays stomach together. Finally with a frustrated growl he uses his teeth to tear the thing open and adds the dry gauze it to the already sodden pile.

"Hey Sonny..."

"WHAT" it comes out a little harsher than he intended.

"It's gonna be fine."

Another trickle of blood gurgles out the side of Clay's mouth and Sonny is pretty sure that's the very definition of anything but fine.

Internal bleeding.

Nicked lung.

Not fine.

Not fucking fine.

At a loss for anything else to do he pushes down harder, with both hands this time and that shuts the kid up, his body jerking beneath him and going taught. Whatever argument or placation Spenser might have tried to form next gives way to a barely stifled moan. His face pales further if that was even possible and Clay's head moves restlessly against the ground in obvious discomfort.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, sorry" and he does know. He's been on the other side of this coin before a few too many times. He's also heard Trent's "_Do what you have to do and apologize later" _speech once or twice or a hundred times. Trauma care is all about doing what's necessary in the moment. Sonny gets that, he really does, he just would be really happy not to be the one doing it right now. Bravo 4 has the stomach and the glacially calm composure for this, not him.

Speaking of which, where the fuck is Trent and the rest of the team. Shouldn't they be here by now. Or at least have responded to his call.

He tries again "Bravo 3 to any Bravo elements"

Static.

Piece of shit. What good is having a radio if it never seems to work when you actually damn well need it.

He is about five seconds away from ripping it off and sending it for an unscheduled flight to the garbage where it belongs when it finally crackles to life.

_"Bravo 3, what's your status?"_

Sonny hangs his head in relief when Jason's voice finally comes through the radio broken and warped but there.

"3 to 1. Could use a little help here. Got contacted on the way down from overwatch. Bravo 6 is down and bleeding like a stuck pig."

Clay opens his mouth to protest that description and Sonny silences him with the glare.

_"Copy, ISR has us 10 mikes to your pos. Hang in there"_

10 minutes. Well shit.

A lot can happen in 10 minutes. A lot of bleeding. A lot of dying.

He wants to yell back at them to hurry the eff up.

To get their asses in gear and get here faster.

He doesn't though, mostly because he knows deep down they are going as fast as they can and as fast as is safe to do. Faster even probably.

Sonny also doesn't want to sound as desperate and shaky as he feels. 10 minutes. He can do 10 minutes. Clay can do 10 minutes. They can make it 10 more damn minutes.

Trent's voice breaks through, and apparently he can't make it that amount of time without trying to gauge the situation.

"_How bad is it?"_

How bad is it? Did he not already cover that. Stuck pig... Bleeding… any of that ringing a bell for anyone.

Sonny looks skyward. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that Trent is just trying to help and that maybe, just maybe he is a tad on edge right now.

He tries to think of something useful to say back. Something somewhat intelligent because Sonny does actually know a decent amount of first aid. Every SEAL does, has to. He is just having trouble focusing on much else past the amount of blood leaking out and the fact that it's one of his team members its leaking from.

"Uh, he got stabbed in the stomach about 30 minutes ago" he pauses to glare at Clay again for his less than ideal contribution to that timeline, "left side, fairly low down. He's conscious, breathings'alright, but can't get the bleeding under control."

There. He mentally congratulates himself on a semi-coherent, semi detailed report.

Except maybe it sounded semi-stressed as well because Trent considers the information and then comes back with "_Ok. Stay calm Sonny. Keep pressure on the wound and get his feet up onto something if you can. We will be there soon"i_

" I am fucking calm" He snarls back embarassed at being such an open book.

Sonny's eyes drift down to his bloody hands, and then up higher where Clay gives him a small but pointed smirk.

Ok, yeah. Maybe calm wasn't the best descriptor.

He glowers at his smartass patient and pointedly says "shut it" working hard to hide the fact that the teasing did actually lighten his mood infinitesimally.

Clay plasters on what he probably thinks is a reassuring smile and repeats his earlier assertion that "It'sgnna befine"

It's even less convincing this time because its notably more slurred and his now ghostly pale skin and blood stained teeth reinforce in vivid detail just how now not fucking fine this situation actually is.

Sonny is also more than a little annoyed at the fact that the kid is the one trying to comfort him when that really should be his job right now and Clay should probably be thinking about other things like trying to clot, or you know not die.

And at some point his brain starts to conceptualize that that really is a possibility here. That they've moved past the whole battlefield humor, trivial injury, laughing matter thing. The blood continues to flow freely, no matter how hard he pushes down. Which means that maybe 10 minutes isn't soon enough, and what's even scarier is that the help Spenser really needs is a whole lot further away than that. The lengthy helicopter and plane rides kind of further away.

He can pretend this is all just a big inconvenience and Clay can say _its going to be fine_ all he wants…. but it might not be.

The resulting surge of panic makes it hard to think because his brain races ahead to what life looks like if they go back one man short again. It pictures empty cages and dress uniforms and a whole host of other completely non helpful scenarios and unacceptable outcomes. It isn't until his radio squawks again with an update from TOC that the team is 5 minutes out and approaching from the east that his foggy brain remembers the other half of Trent's last instructions. He scrambles around one handed pulling their rucks closer and lifting Spenser's legs up onto them.

Clay stirs beneath him, protesting the movement but noticeably less with it now. A small whimper escapes and he weekly struggles when Sonny finishes and brings his secondhand back to push down on the wound. underneath Sonny's efforts. His arm comes up to swipe at Sonny's hands in an uncoordinated gesture meant to push away the renewed source of his pain. Clay's hand finds one of Sonny's arms and grabs at it with all the coordination and strength of a newborn.

Bravo 6 has reached the end of his limit right about the same time Sonny has. Barely audible he begs Sonny to stop, fingers tightening on Sonny's arm before he quickly runs out of energy and lets it drops leaving a trail of blood on the Texan's arm and a distinctively smeared handprint behind.

Sonny would give anything to stop right now. But he can't so he just shakes his head wordlessly in helpless apology and watches a few tears trail down the sides of Clay's face.

God Dammnit, Bravo 3 swallows hard and blinks heavily a few times himself.

When the hell did he get this soft?

He is Sonny Quinn. He is supposed to be a rock. Fearless. Unshakeable. Firebreather to the core.

And he usually is. But anyone who knows him well knows the team is his Achilles heell. When it comes to Bravo, his family, he is vulnerable and exposed, perhaps more than anyone else on the team.

Everyone on Bravo knows it. But they also all pretend not to and he loves them for it.

Sonny's just not quite sure when that definition of family grew to include Clay Spenser.

It was a laughable thought a year ago back when he hated the man on principle.

First because the rookie wasn't Nate. Then because he kind of was.

And on top of those two strikes against him, there was also the fact that the kid was undeniably good, and knew it. Was probably even better than Sonny although it took him a good long while to be able to admit that and even longer to be remotely ok with it.

Spenser somehow managed to overcome all those odds and work his way into the teams good books, and eventually even got himself tolerated by Bravo 3. Then once he found a tiny crack, a way in, he spread like a fungus or a rash. One of those types you think is harmless right up until it is running unchecked and even the best drugs can't get things back under control.

It started off as an obligation. Something Sonny told himself he should try to do for the betterment of the team. A standing football date that was awkward for both of them until gradually it wasn't. Sonny quickly came to realize that they may be very different but their hearts are in it for the same reason and that understanding paved the way for a mutual respect that isn't always readily apparent unless you really squint past the nicknames and inane banter.

Then somewhere along the line he got used to having the little shit in his life. Used to drinking with him at the bar, listening to him bounce ideas off Jason during tac talks, and to good natured competition and ribbing that keeps them both on their toes.

He isn't sure how Clay can manage to both simultaneously occupy roles as the team "kid", the little brother he never had, and a friend he never saw coming but the idea of the absence of any of those is more terrifying than he expected.

Clay's stopped moving much under the pressure. His eyes almost at half mast.

"Hey, no sleeping on the job. Why am I the only one working around here?"

Spenser's eyes open slightly wider and try to focus on him.

It's the worst case of deja vu.

Just him and the newbie fading fast and not knowing if the rescue is going to get there in time.

He can almost smell the smoke, feel the heat from last time.

"Wouldn't mind the calvary swooping in again this time huh?"

No seriously any time now would be good.

"They should have a full time Medivac on speed dial for your high maintenance ass."

There is no mistaking the desperation in his voice now even as he attempts to sound casual with more of their typical bravado.

Clay's eyes work to focus again on him. The kids mouth, set in a hard line, quirks slightly on one side in what might be an attempt at a smile for Sonny's fairly pitiful attempt at humor.

"Always the drama with you. I deserve a medal or something for not stabbing you myself sooner. Jagoff beat me to it."

He looks down hoping for some traction to that jibe. A little dark humour goes a long way in their line of work, except Clay isn't awake anymore to hear it.

'Hey! HEY kid. Come on now!"

Sonny pats his cheek gently and then less gently until he is rewarded with Clay stirring under his hand. Bravo 6 makes a valiant effort to open his eyes again and manages to get them up half way.

Clay tries. He really does.

Sonny's heart aches with how much effort his friend puts in. The kid opens his mouth like he's about to say something. Sonny leans closer trying to hear what it is but no sound comes out even when Clay tries again. Finally he just smiles softly at Sonny and looks way too calm before his eyes drift closed again and no amount of coaxing or insults will rouse him.

Jesus Christ.

Sonny can't move. Or breathe. His lungs freeze and then coldness trickles downwards like a glacial runoff settling into a pool at the base of his stomach.

He is terrified to move even one hand to check Clay's pulse. Partly because he doesn't want to loosen his hold on the stomach wound and also because he is terrified of what he might or might not find. He isn't sure if it's the Patagonian icefield forming inside him in or if Clay actually feels colder under his hands.

He just sits. For what feels like an eternity, or maybe just seconds, and then there is a hand on his back. His team all around him.

He isn't alone anymore. Trent is here. Trent will make this better.

Bravo 4's hands go to Clay's neck, steady and sure. They check his pulse, measure his respiration, all the things Sonny's been too afraid to do.

And they must still be there because the medic quickly moves to digging supplies out of his bag. To blood transfusions and gauze and all the things you don't need for a dead person.

"Here, let me get in there"

Sonny is slow in responding to Trent's direction and swiftly gets shouldered out of the way.

Right. Apologize later.

He staggers to his feet and has to admit it's a relief to get some distance. To get away from the feelings and the pain and the feelings that he was in close proximity to for what felt like hours but was actually less than one. But also his hands feel kinda empty now and without a task they start to shake. His stomach continues to experience a rapid climate change, ice caps melting away and tumble off into a tumultuous sea. Sonny backs away further, desperately attempting to stuff all his feelings that have been bleeding out just as rapidly back into a box where they belong.

He zones back in to see Trent and Jason lift their rookie on the backboard. His eyes remain locked on the same spot, on the puddle of blood, even as they move Nate...no, Clay, out of his field of view.

Sonny shakes his head, focusing back on this situation, on this teammate, on this potential loss.

How the hell is he supposed to do this again?

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Two weeks later Sonny is sitting at the bar still searching for an answer to that same question in a bottle that has none to give.

A throat clears behind him and he glances over his shoulder expecting to find pretty much anyone else other than Clay standing there.

"What the hell are you doing here."

"Might ask you the same question, it's not even noon"

Sonny ignores the criticism in favour of what he considers the more obvious thing wrong here.

"You should be home in bed. Trent is going to kill you. You're an idiot you know that. "

"Again. Pot… kettle."

"How did you even get here? Never mind, I don't want to know."

He turns partially around on his stool to really study the kid.

Clay is still kinda grey and there are fine pain lines around his eyes that confirm Sonny's unofficial diagnosis of this field trip being a terrible idea. Their rookie has his arm carefully casually placed over his stomach, kind of like it's holding everything together and keeping him upright, which it probably is. It's painfully obvious to anyone with half a brain that sitting at a bar, or really anywhere that isn't a couch or bed, isn't exactly what the doctor had in mind for his recovery plan when they released him a few days ago.

Clay hasn't actually even made it to a seated position yet. He's still leaning "casually" against the bartop itself as if it's completely normal behaviour and not at all to do with the fact that his sliced abdominal muscles and surgically repaired organs would most certainly protest any attempt to climb up even a couple inches onto the elevated barstool.

But apparently he feels well enough to doggedly keep gnawing on his current bone "You want to tell me what's up?"

Nope. Not at all.

"Why you are drinking here by yourself in the middle of the day instead of hanging out with the team?"

Not touching that one either.

" and why you are avoiding my texts or calls?"

Sonny can't resist the opening on that one and starts to reply but Clay cuts him off before he can actually say it "Yes I'm fully aware I sound like a needy girlfriend"

Sonny closes his mouth and rolls his eyes. That wasn't what he was going to say.

….. Ok fine, that wasn't exactly how he was going to say it.

"But seriously Son. What gives?" Clay is staring at him so earnestly he has to look away, turning back on the stool to face the bar.

What gives? Sonny doesn't even know where to start with that one. It's a simple enough question but it's digging into a very complex problem. One he's been spending lots of time mulling recently.

Somewhere on that long helicopter ride back, watching Trent pull out every trick in his book to keep their rookie alive Sonny felt his own heart shut down. In a sharp moment of clarity he realized that the only way to keep doing this life and to avoid these feelings in the future is to build that wall back up and leave it there.

He just can't deal with losing another brother. Needs to go back to a year ago when he couldn't stand the sight of Clay. To being irritated by everything he said and being happy to keep as far away as possible whenever possible. Okay maybe that's not possible now but can at least shove Bravo 6 back into that generic box of new teammate in a long string of many, and leave it at that. The rest of the guys are probably already a lost cause, it's been too long. But Clay is still new. It's not too late. He can go back to being professional but not overly invested.

It's safer that way. For everyone.

With time and space he's looked back on his performance from that day and found it seriously lacking. Too frantic, not composed enough and it led to him missing one of the basics for way too long. Elevate limbs to reduce the risk of shock. Everyone knows that. Trent even reminded him that and he still didn't get it done until it was almost too late. Thankfully it didn't make a difference in this case, but it could of, and thats not a price he is willing to pay.

It's probably not logical, and he knows he can't get away with it forever. But he's just desperate and just stubborn enough to try.

So he went through the motions at the hospital with the team waiting for updates and listening to the reports of internal bleeding (no shit) and the multiple blood transfusions needed to stabilize their teammate. He took his shifts sitting with Clay until he finally woke up and even visited a few times after that. He'd just done it all from back behind the great wall of Quinn. The one he keeps between himself and 99% of the population. The one specifically designed to keep people at arm's reach and create the distance he needs to function and not get bogged down with caring. He gives fake smiles and fake excuses and lets others do all the smothering once Clay gets released.

So yeah, he's been a bit distant. He just didn't think it would get picked up on this quickly, and certainly not by Clay who should have better things to worry about right now.

Scanning around the bar with deliberate attention he ignores the inquiry and hopes Clay will take the hint and disengage because Sonny had absolutely no desire to hash this out here, or ever really.

He orders another beer and then turns to the Spenser who is still waiting expectantly "You should go home. Go find your partner in crime that broke you out and get back to that bed rest thing you're supposed to be doing."

Clay rolls his eyes, settling back to lean further onto the bartop with a feigned ease as if he has all day.

And as if that very movement isn't probably excruciatingly painful.

The ever persistent little shit cocks his head in a challenge and offers "I'll go if you take me".

Sonny considers and rejects that almost instantly. He knows exactly what it's code for and while he does in fact want to take him up on it and stuff the fool back in his car and drag his scrawny, stubborn ass back to his apartment and moronsit until he can be sure that the aforementioned moron gets some rest….he isn't doing that anymore. Walls, space, and all that.

So instead he gives a casual shrug of indifference. As if it doesn't at all bother him that the kid is here, suffering, probably.

Whatever.

He forces himself to call the kids bluff. To bank on the fact that eventually Clay will tire and have to give up.

He probably should have known better.

The kid is stubborn.

And he always beats Sonny at poker.

Sure enough Clay raises the stakes and when the Mikey Mcdermmit next to him starts tugging out the bar stool and attempting to climb onto it, Sonny folds.

It would be just his luck for the bonehead to fall off mid attempt and split his stitches open or something.

So he gets up from his seat without a word, shoves his stool and the imbecile next to him's in as well and slams a few bills down to cover the bill.

He stalks out of the bar without a word leaving his beer half full and trusting that his uninvited companion will tag a long.

Sure enough Spenser does and they walk in silence to Sonny's truck. Bravo 3 surveys the area as they go, scanning and assessing the cars in the parking lot until he sees one that he recognizes. Ray.

Of course it was Ray.

It makes all the sense in the world that their number two is wrapped up in this and Sonny stopped being surprised a long time ago at the man's uncanny ability to sense when something is off with one of his teammates. This whole setup might as well have a big intervention banner flying overhead. He would almost expect his other teammates to start popping out and taking turns with carefully crafted non accusatory statements like _Brother we are here for you to support you through this… _or _Sonny you are valuable to us and we believe in you_.

Except Bravo 2 is subtler than that. He usually tries to find a way to handle you without letting you know you're being handled.

Sonny has to admit he is impressed with the deviousness of this one. Using Spencer is a nice touch. It's actually a little surprising that Ray willingly aided and abetted this little encounter which meant braving the wrath of Sawyer and knowingly allowing Clay to overdo it.

Sonny just shakes his head softly in their number two's direction. Trusting the man's keen sniper eyes to pick up on the fact that his master plan has not gone unnoticed and is not well received.

When they reach his truck Clay glances apprehensively at the lifted running board and the big step up required to get into the passenger side. Sonny crosses his arms, ruthlessly raising the stakes on his end, and mostly just to keep himself from reaching out like he wants to. The smart thing to do would be for the ninny to give up and go slink back over and slide gently into Ray's nice low sedan with the heated seats and adjustable lumbar support.

But when has anyone ever accused Clay of being smart, or willing to back down from a challenge. In perfectly predictable fashion, the brainless, obstinate twerp gets a hold of the grab handle, grits his teeth and hauls himself up.

Sonny mutters a few obscenities under his breath watching him and feels a few pangs of guilt as the kid finally manages to settle into the seat a little paler, a little sweatier and with a grimace he can't hide. Clay takes a few deep breaths and swallows convulsively at the obviously high level of discomfort and Sonny wonders if he is finally going to fold.

Life with their rookie is never that simple.

After a short moment Spenser cracks his eyes open, meets Sonny's challenging gaze and visibly forces himself to settles back into the seat.

Fine then.

Sonny slams the door shut on Clay with the stern admonishment "you puke in my car you'll be cleaning it up, gimpy or not."

He crosses around to the drivers side taking a few deep breaths of his own to try to lower the familiar feeling of raised blood pressure he's come to associate with Bravo 6. Reaching his side of the vehicle, Sonny hauls himself up with ease and then jams the truck into gear and peels out of the parking lot.

Let's get this over with then.

Surprisingly Clay remains silent for a while. It appears to be taking him longer to recover than maybe even he expected. Sonny feels bad about that, just not quite bad enough to override his relief at the temporary reprieve from the questions he knows are coming ...eventually.

The ones he doesn't have any good answers for like the dreaded is _something the matter_?

Or _are you alright?_

And his least favourite _do you want to talk about it_?.

The answer is a resounding no. To all of them.

But maybe the kid is hurting more than he's letting on. Because they are more than halfway back to his place and he still hasn't said anything.

The silence lingers and the guilt builds.

Finally Sonny can't take it anymore. He fesses up. Figures if nothing else the kid deserves an explanation. Apologize later right? This probably isn't exactly what Trent means but the shoe fits.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around much, I just needed….I just need to focus on the job right now. Trim back on some of the other stuff."

Short and simple and to the point. And not exactly true, but also not untrue either.

Sonny braces for the probing questions the explanations he doesn't know how to give. Or for some sort of joke about how he basically just gave Clay a military version of "it's not me, it's you"

He fully expects Spenser to call him on the fact that this isn't really about operational efficiency or whatever other bullshit he's trying to peddle. Lord knows their rookie doesn't often miss much, and even more often likes to point it out.

So there's a real good chance he realizes that Sonny Quinn is actually just shit scared to lose another teammate, especially one who is rapidly becoming his best friend seemingly against all odds. Actually Sonny isn't just scared, he's terrified, and running fast.

Clay studies his teammate gently, with a depth of understanding that Sonny isn't entirely comfortable with. Like he's a pane of glass, transparent as hell, and being seen right through.

Finally he just says simply "It's ok Sonny. I get it."

He doesn't know how Clay can because Sonny doesn't even really. Still he tells himself not to look a gift horse in the mouth and tries to quash the urge to keep talking, to explain more, apologize more. He shoves it deep, deep down and tries not to dwell on the fact that this has all the hallmarks of one of those moments he is going to look back at later and wonder if he made the right choice.

Before he can waffle any further they reach the end of their drive. He pulls up to the curb next to a fire hydrant and firmly ignores the no parking sign determined to make sure Clay has the shortest walk to his front door.

Clay opens the car door, but doesnt make a move to get out. At first it seems like he is readying himself for one last attempt at an intervention, but as the silence stretches with no further signs of conversation it becomes apparent he is stalling for another reason. The kid is staring down at the distance to the ground, evidently trying to decide how to maneuver this hurdle with the least amount of pain or chance of falling. After a long pause he swings his legs around and shifts awkwardly side to side as if testing out the least painful option for movement.

Finally Sonny can't take it anymore. Sitting helplessly by like a coldhearted, selfish twerp isn't making this any better either. This distance thing is overrated when it means you just have to sit by and watch your teammate injure himself just to prove a point.

With a mental fuck it. He shifts into park and gets out to go help him down.

Bonehead barbie isn't going to tear his stitches out on his watch.

Between the two of them they manage the descent fairly smoothly and yet it still ends with Clay doubled over, one arm on his knees, one arm wrapping his abdomen. Sonny stands there with his hand under Clay's elbow making sure the idiot doesn't faceplant.

Not above making this a teachable moment Sonny can't resist asking "Now can we finally admit the prison break was a dumbass idea?"

Clay gives him a sheepish grin "Yeah, probably was..." His tone gets a little more serious and he adds "but some things are worth the pain."

He pushes up off Sonny's arm and slowly uncurls and straightens up. "See ya around Sonny."

His crooked smile and solemn tone makes it pretty clear that he knows he won't, or at least knows it won't be the same when he does and damn if that doesn't send a lance of pain through Sonny's gut just as surely as if he is the one with the shredded up stomach.

Clay sets off down the path towards his pad, moving slowly but steadily enough.

Sonny tells himself to leave. To turn and stick to his plan. Distance. Walls. Space. A new way forward for all of them.

Except he can't seem to make it happen.

The battle wages inside of him and he wavers, unable to commit to moving.

On one side the desire to play this safe, low risk, and ensure that it won't hurt as badly for either of them down the road if the worst happens.

And on the other, the foundation of their friendship they've already built and Sonny's complete inability to pull his heart out of things no matter how much he wants to.

All in, all the time.

He can talk a good game, plan to be logical and safe as much as he wants, but when push comes to shove Sonny Quinn knows a lost cause when he sees one and this is probably the very definition.

Even if he holds out today, it will happen eventually.

Clay will continue to be all understanding. Making it infinitely harder than if he just took it poorly and caused a rift.

There will be a future full of moments just like this that are too hard to resist because trouble magnet thy name is Clay Spenser. And one day, eventually Sonny will cave.

So today might as well be that day.

Because dammit it's killing him not to walk Clay back to his apartment right now.

To make sure he gets there all right….

And gets settled….

And takes some pain meds…

And gets something to eat…

Fuck.

Yep, lost cause.

With a growl of frustration he sets off after his friend.

It doesn't take him long to catch up and Clay doesn't look all that surprised when the Texan appears at his side.

"What? Someone's got to make sure your dumb ass doesn't go wondering off again"

Clay simply smiles and shakes his head and keeps ambling along.

Sonny falls into step beside him. They make it up the walkway, into the house and Sonny is part way across the threshold into the apartment when he realizes two things almost simultaneously. One, he's been played. Damn the kid and damn Ray Perry.

He watches the kid shuffle the last couple steps and gratefully ease himself down onto the couch and it's so reassuring that he can't quite find it in himself to be all that mad about it.

And two, maybe, just maybe the rookie was actually right about something this time.

Some things are worth the pain.

He fetches the savant a few painkillers and a bottle of water and then settles next to him on the couch.

"So, what are we watching?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sonny's been known to put a lot of time and effort into finding something to complain about in pretty much all the less than desirable climates their job takes them too.

First there's all the damn desert countries they end up in. Hot, arid, dry as a frickin bone and sand getting into so many places that it just shouldn't be. Any and all gripping while in such horrid places should be easily justifiable to anyone who has ever spent more than a day there.

And then there are the periodic water missions they get sent on. Since he is a frogman he most definitely isn't scared of water, or the things that live in it, definitely not. And if he was maybe just a little uncomfortable with it people have at least stopped teasing him about that specific phobia after the whole torpedo tube near drowning incident. One perk to come out of that nightmare.

More recently though his team seems to be spending an unfortunate amount of time in tropical destinations. The ridiculous humidity, the insane amount of bugs and the irritating amount of coconut in pretty much everything has quickly moved any remotely jungle like country far up on his shit list as well closely behind deserts and amphibian missions.

This current mission location though isn't actually all that bad. He hasn't found much to complain about yet although they have only been on the ground a couple of hours so the day is still young.

The woodsy German landscape reminds him strongly of visiting his Aunt's cottage around Thanksgiving every year as a child. He finds himself breathing in the cool crisp air and basking in the bright sun as they walk and can't help but admire the few stubborn pops of green holding out in rebellion against the oncoming winter even as it they slowly get blanketed by falling leaves

So for now he is almost enjoying their trek, revelling in his ability to set a good pace without drowning in humidity or inhaling sand with every breath.

His good cheer lasts another half a mile until the forest begins to thin. The barren trees become thinner and more sparse and offer less and less concealment than Sonny would like to see. Now the team keeps having to cross through small clearings between sets of trees and he feels the increased vulnerability each time they step out exposed in the open.

He blames that uneasiness for the way he jumps when an audible snap echoes through the area. His heart races and his gun raises automatically.

A quick glance around him shows Brock sheepishly stepping off a dead branch.

Bravo 5 gives Jason a nod of apology and then they push on, moving silently for a few more minutes and working their way through the acres and acres of trees surrounding the heavily secluded property in what seems like the middle of nowhere.

Literally the middle of nowhere. When they were planning out the mission Sonny had to zoom the map out several times to follow the long winding driveway out to the nearest road and then several times further to follow that back to a very quiet little town in the German countryside. Halfway between two big cities its located just conveniently enough that a few tourists journey off the autobahn in the summer to keep one pub, one dining establishment and one creepy isolated hotel open for business.

Oh and apparently a few terrorists like to visit the town on a regular basis too.

The good idea fairies spent God knows how many hours tracking the guest room usage at the supposedly quaint little inn built out of an old hunting lodge. Apparently it wasn't as big a waste of time as it appeared because they found a suspiciously high and rather alarming number of people passing through the inn with connections to a new up and coming terror cell connected to several key attacks in Eastern Europe over the last few months. And so enters Bravo, sent on a pleasure hike through the german countryside to locate Intel they believe is being collected and redistributed from this unsuspecting connection point.

There's another crack, sharper and more jarring than the first that makes Sonny flinch again before looking around to see which teammate is joining Brock on the shit list. At this rate, Jason will have them all doing maneuvers for hours and hours until the team can do some sort of crazy feat like walk over a sheet of bubble wrap without popping any bubbles.

Scanning around he sees most of the team also looking around for the culprit as well and it takes all of them a second longer than it should to realize Clay is down in a small clearing a few yards away.

Suddenly that noise takes on a whole new meaning. Gunfire. An attack.

There is a minute of carefully ordered chaos. Where they all take cover as best they can behind the too sparse, too thin trees and start searching for the threat with guns raised.

It remains silent.

There are no more shots or echoes.

No more signs of attack.

At first the only audible noise is their heavy breathing as they stay frozen in place. Then still a few yards away Clay starts moving and then all Sonny can hear is the horrifyingly amplified sounds of the kid thrashing around on the dry fallen leaves.

Sonny hisses quietly at him, trying to get his attention and get him to stop moving.

"Clay….. Clay…."

Clay doesn't seem at all aware of his teammates or the situation, only focused on trying to get up in a bundle of uncoordinated limbs and shaky movements that are getting him nowhere.

Fuck, fuck, fuck

He's still exposed and now he's making himself more of a target.

Not to mention he's going to bleed out faster this way.

He tears his gaze away, forcing himself to go back to scanning for the threat. The sooner they find it and eliminate it, the sooner they can get to their man.

Except he can't see anything irregular.

Or hear anything that would tell him which direction it came from.

He has to remind himself that the lack of follow up shots means nothing. Clay is a tempting prize and their assailant could be waiting patiently, trying to lure the rest of the team out further before unleashing holy hell on them.

Sonny highly suspects their assailant is baiting them. Setting a trap. He's just not sure how much longer he's going to be able to resist taking the bait.

Watching the kid, shaking and wounded and lying there alone….

A second before Sonny is about to do something stupid Trent beats him to it.

Bravo four dashes out from behind his tree much to the audible exasperation of his team leader.

Sonny, on the other hand is torn between gratitude and frustration.

He's grateful because Clay obviously needs the help but he can almost hear Jason's familiar lecture to Trent about how it's not going to help the team or the injured party if he gets himself shot to pieces.

Sonny grumbles to himself, shifting in place anxiously and kicking himself for not being quicker off the draw. Short of putting three men down range and vulnerable he has to settle for raising his gun again to cover his brothers.

Trent bobs and weaves and then makes a beeline out from the minimal cover and throws himself down next to the kid in the open. He lies still and flat for a second with his hand Clay's shoulder holding him still. Then after a pause where he doesn't get shot he apparently decided to test his luck further and raises to his knees. He grabs Spenser's wrists and roughly starts pulling in the direction of cover and the team. Trent slides him a few feet back towards them before stopping abruptly when Clay makes an inhuman, noise of agony like he is being torn in two. Trent quickly let's go, dropping his hold on Clay's arm as if its burning him and making no further efforts to keep pulling.

The medic's eyebrows furrow in confusion, scanning his patient rapidly, staying crouched next to the injured man. He brushes around in the leaves for a second near Clay's feet like he is searching for something and then he freezes, face paling.

To the team's bewilderment and more spontaneous prayer from Jason, he abandons his efforts to move the man and drops back to his knees right there in the open.

What is he doing?

He's going to get himself killed. Sonny has no idea what the sniper is waiting for now.

If Clay took a bullet to the leg there is no reason not to drag him to safety and treat it here. Even if it apparently hurts like a bitch.

Except Trent clearly has no intention of doing that. He starts pulling off his pack to treat Bravo 6 right where he is and gesturing madly for the others to join him.

Sonny doesn't need to be told twice. He has no idea what's going on but he trusts Trent and trusts that he wouldn't endanger the team unless he was absolutely certain the coast was clear. Himself sure. But not the team.

He is out from under cover and rushing over towards the kid and slides to his knees next to Clay just in time as the idiot tries to get up again. He presses down on the kids shoulders pinning him and preventing him from reaching down towards whatever injury Trent is working on down by his leg.

"Let it be. Trent's got it. You're gonna be fine."

Sonny really hopes he's not lying on that last one.

Panicked eyes lock onto him. The kid looks as confused and as frantic about the situation as Sonny's ever seen him which is surprising because Clay's had some tough breaks over the last few years. Explosions, burns, broken bones, bullets and Sonny has never seen him like this.

Clay's fingers come up to find purchase on Sonny's arms. He latches onto his sleeves, pulling the fabric, wild eyes begging for his friend to do something, anything. It's a kick to Sonny's gut when Clay seems to abruptly give up on him and starts straining and trying to pull himself up to try and fix it on his own.

He tightens his hold, pushing the kid down and murmuring softly

"Hold still. Hold still. Trent's got you."

His hurried reassurances trail off quickly when he realizes Spenser is trying to say something. Sonny leans down closer until he can make out what Clay is forcing out through clenched teeth. "Get it off, get it off"

Get what off? He tries to look down to where Trent is working but can't see around him to whatever injury lies beyond. All he knows is the kid is shaking under his hold, squirming like mad and in an unexpected show of strength he manages to get loose from Sonny's grip. He doesn't get far, or anywhere really, but he does manage to dislodge Trent off his legs which creates a window for Sonny and the others to finally see what the real problem here is.

A hunting trap.

A fucking hunting trap.

Clay must have stepped on it and triggered it and now there is a very thick, heavily rusted and very jagged piece of metal embedded deeply into his shin and calf at the high ankle. And in true Clay fashion the full force of the bite narrowly missed his boot and landed at his high ankle bone for full impact with no cushioning.

Above him he hears Jason swear not so quietly under his breath before muttering "post security" to Ray and Brock with an air of exhausted resignation that screams here we go again.

Havoc is chiming in their ears now, asking for a sitrep, questioning the lack of advancement

Jason sighs heavily before answering "Six is down. We are assessing. Standby."

Bravo One turns back and surveys the situation one more time before shaking his head and leaving in Ray's direction with a final muttered "un-_freak_-ing believable".

Sonny seconds that sentiment.

Except that it's Clay so it is all too freaking believable. Their rookie, who's not really a rookie anymore, would be the one who has the horrible luck to walk into a bear trap, or a wolf trap, or whatever the hell this is.

Sonny continues his attempts at soothing Spenser but has a hard time focusing on anything but the barbaric contraption piercing into the man's tibia or fibia, or hell probably both.

It hurts just to look at. He doesn't want to imagine the amount of pain those sharp teeth are causing and the crushing pressure the kid must be enduring.

Now that Sonny knows the problem he too wants to yell at Trent to get it off and get it off now.

He manages not to, but Trent still seems to understand they are both nearing the end of their ropes. He pivots around and inches up so that he can lean over Clay's head where he is still periodically struggling against Sonny's hold and starting to gasp for air erratically.

"Clay… Hey Clay, look at me."

Wild eyes transfer back to Trent. Heartbreakingly trusting and desperate.

"That's it. Clay, you need to calm down or you are going to hyperventilate"

"We are going to get this off you, but first I need you to take some deep breaths"

Clay nods jerkily, struggling to get a tenuous hold on his composure and do what he's being asked.

Trent smoothly sticks him with a dart of morphine.

"That should help, now try to breathe through it. That's it. Breathe with me"

Clay continues to breathe unevenly but slowly it becomes less desperate and somewhat more under control. His eyes lightly glaze and unfocus for a few seconds as the opioids kick in and take the edge off.

Sonny wants to believe its enough but the tight lines around his eyes and his fistful of Sonny's sleeves say it's nowhere near and that it's taking all Clay's self control not to panic and try to escape the cold metal grip holding him in place

"Breath and relax, good…. Okay hold still for a second so I can get a good look and then we are going to get it off you. I know it hurts. I know you want it off. Just hang on and trust me"

Apparently satisfied for now Trent returns down to Spenser's leg and resumes his close examination. He carefully unties and works off Clay's boot from underneath the wound causing Clay's jaw to clenches further and a few whimpers to escape confirming Sonny's suspicion that even the wonderdrug Morphine has its limits.

Now that they have a clear view of the wound Trent leans in closer. Sonny on the other hand wants to look anywhere else than the bloody spot where the sharp prongs disappear right into the skin. He is again overwhelmed with a desire to rip the thing out, right this damn second. He knows trying to wrestle the thing open with his bare hands is probably stupid, and probably won't work, and very probably will make the situation worse… but he still really wants to try.

Sonny has to look away before he actually acts on that urge. Or just straight up pukes on Clay. It's a toss up and neither option will be helpful to the situation.

Brock and Ray are still just holding their positions on the perimeter. They periodically glance over their shoulders and send a worried glance towards their teammate.

Jason paces not too far away, just inside where security is set, updating Havoc and receiving intel on their surroundings.

"Can you feel this?" Trent's voice pulls him back to the situation at hand and he sees their medic carefully pinching each of Clay's toes.

He's relieved to see Clay nod in affirmation.

" Good. Can you wiggle them?"

Clay does and goes a few shades greener.

"Trent?" Jason tone is a mix of concern and a warning that says time is up. The need to get moving is written all over his face.

"It's not bleeding too bad. Pretty good bet something is broken or cracked in there but it's still attached so that's something."

Jason gives his medic a baleful look at his less than ringing endorsement.

Sonny really hopes it was an attempt to be funny, sometimes it's hard to tell with Sawyer, because the man epitomizes dry humour and can deliver it the same way at the best and worst of times. Laughing over a beer or elbow deep in someone's intestines Sawyer sounds the exact same.

Jason doesn't seem inclined to try to decipher either way in this case. He moves on to more pressing matters. "Okay to remove it?"

"Yes, but I need another set of hands…. And it's gonna hurt." He glances apologetically down at Clay. "Gonna have to try to be quiet. Can you do that?"

Clay gives another nod, wide eyed but determined. Sonny has a feeling he would have agreed to just about anything at the prospect of getting free.

Jason comes in closer and detaches his rifle strap. He folds it up and hands it to Clay "Here - bite down on this"

Sonny wants to snap at them. To tell them where to stick that strap because if they didn't already wake up the whole damn neighborhood of which he's not convinced actually exists, another scream won't do it.

It ain't right to put that on the kid

He grinds his teeth in lieu of his own gag to prevent himself from chiming in.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the brewing Texan storm, Jason leans down next to Trent and the two of them create a plan that seems to involve depressing some lever and tugging like hell. It's only slightly more sophisticated than what Sonny came up with but there does seem to be one key step that is hopefully going to make a difference.

They get into position and Sonny tenses in anticipation. Possibly more than Clay who seems just resigned to what's coming.

Jason and Trent start pushing, and pulling and depressing and get no result except a few twitches from Clay as the motions jostle his leg.

They try again and start to frown because the fancy lever and depression that is supposedly happening doesn't actually seem to be working.

Jason starts trying to pry the thing open with a set of pliers. When that fails he goes at the screws and hinges with his knife, also to minimal effect. Then in a rapidly devolving level of sophistication, and kind of something Sonny would do himself, he gets frustrated and starts bashing "carefully" at the lever with the handle of his knife trying to jar the damn thing loose. It fails spectacularly, and the only movement is Clay's renewed struggles underneath their hold, trying and failing to stay still as each jolt is agonizing and sends him writhing on the ground.

Another whack and his fingers tighten on Sonny's forearms so hard he suspects there will be bruises later.

The next hit turns his grunts into full on screams that the gag can't fully muffle.

Screams turn into sobs and Sonny is about two seconds away from screaming at them himself to stop for fucks sake when they finally admit defeat.

That monstrosity is going nowhere.

Clay spits out the gag and breathes harshly. He rolls over to one side as much as he can and gags. In a delayed reaction Sonny helps him finish the movement and braces him until he's done and then helps him roll back down as gently as possible.

He tunes back in to to find Trent, Jason and now Ray discussing options.

There aren't a lot of good ones.

Sonny spits out his own self imposed gag and offers to blow it up which gets him twin glares from both Jason and Trent for his less than helpful comment. He actually was only half joking though, with the right charges carefully selected and carefully placed it could be done. Maybe not the device itself but the chain for sure. At least enough to get their rookie detached from the damn tree like a tethered junkyard mutt though

Okay yeah, it's probably too risky. And yeah, they probably don't have the right kind of explosives to do the job anyways. And yes, the trap would still be stuck on his leg and the explosion could cause more damage. Ok fine. Not the best idea after all.

Unfortunately they HAHO-d in on this one and so their supplies are severely limited. Stealth was the name of the game as the goal was to get in and out without detection. All intelligence spoke to electronic security that needs to be carefully disarmed rather than brute walls and locks so they didn't waste space with more heavy duty equipment that would be really nice to have right about now.

Sonny goes back to watching their leader pace. He sees the exact moment he comes to a conclusion regarding the next steps. If they can't get it off… the kid is going to have to wait it out

They can hope to find some tools at the inn that will do the job.

"He stable?" Jason asks with a grimace. Trent gives a slow nod. Clearly not enthused with the prospect of where this is going either.

"Ok then"

Just like that a decision is made even if all the details aren't sorted. The team has to push on complete the mission.

Jason crouches down next to Clay, pats his chest and says "Sorry kid, you are gonna have to wait it out here"

Clay swallows hard and hoarsely agrees "Yah, go, I'm good here."

Sonny and Ray share a hard look recalling the last time their rookie said that and was actually pinned under debris, more injured than he let on and ended up pinned down by enemy combatants.

Willingly leaving their teammate in basically the same situation, alone, injured, and once again trapped is a non starter in Sonny's book.

He is just about to protest when he sees Jason scanning his men and doing the mental math about how to reconfigure their team and is momentarily overwhelmed with a swell of appreciation for their leader. Not every team leader would make the same decision here to leave one of their shooters behind with an injured party. Thankfully in this case it's doubtful the extra gun will make a difference so it affords Jason the luxury to split his team without too high a cost.

Trent would obviously make the most sense to stay behind with his medical know how. The only problem is that Trent is also the most "techy" of all of them, by a wide margin really. On top of that Bravo 4 has been training for weeks, spending hours and hours practicing the delicate coding required to disarm the alarm systems and get them access to the desired computer systems without detection. There isn't a prayer than any of the rest of them could step in and do the job.

So that leaves Sonny, Ray or Brock. Which in Sonny's mind makes things simple. If it can't be Trent than it's going to be him.

He tells himself that he's considered the mission objectives. And that it makes the most sense for Ray and Brock to push on.

He tells himself that the likelihood of mission success was equally weighted against his personal desire to look after his friend.

And then he doesn't really make it a question or a suggestion, just a clear statement of what's gonna have to happen.

"The kid and I will wait here for you boys while you go play fortnight or Minecraft or whatever computer games we came all this way for Trent to play. Just make sure you rustle up some bigger hardwear to come back and free Willy here"

Jason's lips harden for a moment and Sonny knows he's running all the options, trying to decide if that's actually the smartest play.

This is exactly why you couldn't pay Sonny enough to take on that role. Even the number 2 is too rarified air because it requires layers of complex thinking he is capable of but has no interest in doing Right now for him this is simple. Hurt teammate, stay with teammate. And until Jason tells him otherwise that's what he is doing.

Yeah, he may be pushing it a bit. And he can almost see Jason trying to decide when he lost control of these kind of decisions.

Sonny actually hopes he asks that question because he's got an answer ready. Probably about the same time he picked the trouble maker to join the team.

Jason finally just gives a sharp nod and Sonny can't tell if he agreed with the logic, or just didn't think it was worth it to push the issue. Either way, gifthorse, mouth, he ain't looking.

"Okay, Sonny will stay. The rest of us are charlie mike."

Before they go they lift Clay as much as they can firmly ignoring the choked gasps the movement produces. They wedge blankets and tarps underneath him and then brace him up against a small nest of packs with a heap more blankets on top. The end result is a pale face and mess blonde hair barely visible under a mountain of fabric.

Trent fusses around until finally Jason has to almost drag him away.

If they don't go now, they won't make it in time. Even as it is they are going to have to haul ass to get there in the designated window. Too much longer and the property won't be vacant and their ability to get in and out unnoticed will be wishful thinking.

Before the medic leaves he goes to give Clay another dose of painkillers but Clay catches his wrist with a shaking hand before he can administer them.

"No more."

"Clay…."

"No, it'll knock me out."

Trent's lips thin and it looks like he is going to argue. Sonny wants him to argue for him and to bash some sense into the kids head. Of all the pigheaded, boneheaded, obstinate, stupid, idiotic things...

He gets the idea, none of them ever like to be out of capacity on a mission. But at the same time, Clay's not exactly going to be all that useful hobbled to the tree and barely able to focus through the pain. Plus if they are going to be sitting ducks here for the next few hours the kid needs to be able to ride it out quietly.

Instead Trent gives a short nod, and then detours away to give Sonny a few final instructions.

"Keep him warm, and hydrated, and call if you need anything"

He leans in close and presses the morphine kit into Sonny's hand with a meaningful glance.

Sonny deftly slides it into his pocket and then gives Trent an irreverent and flippant "Yes Mom."

Too soon the four of them are diminishing dots in the distance, a steady crunch of leaves getting quieter and quieter until it's just Sonny and Clay and the silent woods all around them again.

It's eerie and uncomfortable and Sonny tries not to think about just how vulnerable they are sitting here like this.

It's going to be a long couple hours.

Sonny initially tries to keep up a quiet conversation. Determined to help pass the time and try to keep Clay's mind off of his current incredibly sucky predicament.

He gets a few clipped responses, mostly one word answers, and some of his better barbs and baiting nicknames get completely ignored. In fact it almost seems to be making it worse so he gives up and let's Clay to deal with it how he needs to.

It just makes it a little harder for him. At least if they were talking he would feel useful and like he was helping take his mind off things. Right now he feels completely unable to help his friend.

He tries to focus on their surroundings, scanning in the distance for any sounds, any threats. Feeling the heavy weight of their survival resting solely on his shoulders. It puts him more on edge than he would like to admit.

He does a few extra patrols, expanding his route outwards to check for any signs that they might have company any time soon.

Each time he returns the kids eyes follow him, his grip relaxes on his sidearm, and he closes his eyes again.

Before long the silence starts to get to him.

Not because of the possible threats lurking. That he is used to, but he's finding it harder and harder to focus on anything past the fact that he damn well knows the quietness means Clay is really hurting. The kid has a high pain tolerance and it's well established that Spenser can and will joke his way through many a hairy situation. The absence of his usual banter is worrying, and frustrating because he wants to help but doesn't know how.

So with an internal growl he gets up again and does another perimeter sweep.

When he returns he does a vital check and then moves on to checking Clay's circulation, pinching his toes one by one like Trent showed him

They pink up nicely, no signs of lack of blood flow. He tries to take solace in that because there isn't much he can do anyways if things go poorly. They've already established that the infernal contraption isn't going anywhere.

Sonny tries to settle back and wait patiently. A near impossibility to anyone who knows him well. Still he figures the calm is what Clay needs from him he manages for a bit.

The teams been gone for about an hour when that becomes a near impossible ask.

Sonny can almost see the exact moment in time where the first batch of morphine Trent gave the kid starts to wear off. The pain ramps up unchecked by the rapidly diminishing drugs in his system and it comes back full force.

Clay's eyes are still shut, but every line of tension in his body makes it clear he isn't resting and that the second dose Trent tried to give him would probably have been a really good idea right about now.

As if to prove Sonny's point Spenser starts shivering and sweating all at the same time.

Sonny lays a hand on Clay's forehead and blows out a breath when he doesn't feel any signs of a fever.

The problem is that leaves the other option and on further reflection that might actually be worse. Sure an infection would be bad because God knows what kind of germs and metals are on that rusted piece of shit, but this stubbornness and unnecessary suffering is a lot harder for Sonny to deal with in the short term.

He counts to ten, more than once because once just didn't quite feel like enough. Somewhere in the middle of his 8th or so time through Clay starts to make little choked sounds that make it seem as if he is physically grappling with noises and is determined to swallow them down before anything can escape.

Sonny ignores the first few sounds, gritting his teeth and resuming his counting.

1 mississippi...2 mississippi….3….4….

He doesn't even make it past 5 before he can't take it anymore.

"Just you and me kid. Sure you don't want to reconsider the good stuff now that the big bosses are gone?"

Clay cracks open an eye and gives him an impressive stink eye.

Never mind then.

Sonny gets up and goes on another lap around the perimeter needing something to do so he won't voice his current thoughts where the kid can hear him. It might make him feel better but he refuses to take out his frustrations on Clay who is already suffering enough.

When he returns he shrugs out of his jacket and adds another layer to the pile. Ignoring the negative nelly inside his head that says if the first 5 blankets aren't keeping him warm one more layer probably isn't going to solve the actual problem.

It's a testament to how out of it Clay is that he doesn't protest the mother henning. Just screws his eyes shut tighter again and goes back to whatever dark pain cave he's living in right now to deal with this.

The stalemate stretches on for a few more minutes, punctuated only by the occasional moans or whimpers Clay can't quite seem to contain any longer.

Sonny checks his watch. Figures another hour maybe two until the team is back.

He tells himself they can make it. They are going to make it.

Tells himself that over and over and over right up until Clay starts breathing all funny. It gets real short and irregular, hitching erratically in between almost constant huffs or whines of pain that he doubts Clay even realizes he is making now.

Finally he can't take it anymore.

Enough of this stubbornness.

He digs into his pocket pulls out the kit Trent left him. He grabs a dose and sticks the stubborn fool with it all in one smooth decisive moment.

Clay's eyes fly open and stare at him with no shortage of accusation or betrayal.

"Yeah you can hate me for it later. I can live with that."

It's worth any shitstorm down the road to watch some of the strain ease now. Clay's face relaxes first and then he finally takes a few deep breaths, chest slowing back to a more regular rhythm.

His eyes start to blink heavily and Sonny encourages him on his way to sleep "Relax kid, don't fight it."

Of course fighting is what Clay does more naturally than breathing so he continues to blink stubbornly for another few minutes until his eyes finally stay shut and Sonny dares to hope that he's drifted away into a painless sleep.

He reaches down and gently pulls the dislodged blankets higher up trying not wake him up in the process. He rests his hand on his forehead again wondering how its possible for an almost 30 year old man, a fire breathing Tier 1 operator and a what now feels like a friend he's had his whole life, can somehow manage to look like a damn 10 year old kid when he's sleeping. It takes a surprising amount of effort to tear himself away and continue on checking the rest of his vitals. He is comforted to find them more or less the same as the last time he checked.

Satisfied with the state of his sleeping charge, Sonny gets up and goes to settle on a tree across the way that holds the best unobstructed view of their surroundings. He is hunkering down and making himself comfortable for the long haul when a quiet voice catches him off guard.

"Sonny?"

He looks over in a panic to find the kid's eyes watching him, glassy and almost translucent in the growing afternoon shadows.

"Yeah kid"

"I'm sorry you have to deal with this again…"

The guilt in those puppy dog eyes would be enough to fell even the hardest of hearts. Sonny shuffles back over and sits down next to Clay, slouching down against the packs so he is shoulder to shoulder with his best friend.

He clears his throat and then with equal layers of gruffness and affection grumbles out "You should be, you are a lot of trouble. Spend half my life these days bailing you out of the crazy shenanigans you come up with"

Clay smiles softly.

"Not true."

"Oh yeah? Do we need to review that time you fell in a damn sinkhole in the middle of the end of days war and got yourself pinned unders some baddies for the better part of a couple hours. Or wait I seem to recall fishing your ass out of the drink when you thought it was a good idea to go for a tumble off a 100ft diving board. And that's not even touching on all the times you got shot, or stabbed, or blown up… need I go on?"

Clay huffs softly in denial. His eyes reflecting a small spark of his usual fire and it warms Sonny more than any jacket or blanket could.

"Ok, fine. But what about that catastrophe in Rota where I ended up hauling your ass?"

Sonny almost rejoices at the first full sentence he has heard in hours. The drugs appear to have loosened Clay's tongue and it correspondingly releases some of the fear and stress banded around his own heart. The return of their regular banter makes him happier than he will ever admit. He knows full well the kid is forcing it for his sake but the fact that Clay now feels up to doing so incredibly reassuring in and of itself.

He adds some extra growl back in before replying "I don't know what you are talking about. Never happened. You are higher than a kite and apparently delusional"

"Just cuz you don't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen." Clay grimaces and readjusts his position, closing his eyes and settling back but continuing to talk. "I remember it perfectly..."

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"_Sonny! We gotta go come on."_

_Clay braces himself, trying to ignore the way his own balance wavers and his surroundings spins lazily around him as he leans down and tries to haul the heavier man to his feet._

_Sonny makes a vague attempt to be helpful, reaching up with one arm in Clay's direction and allowing Clay to get his shoulder under Bravo 3's arm and lever them both to a somewhat standing position _

_They weave their way carefully down the alley, legs threatening to give out at any moment._

_They make it mostly upright, minus one unscheduled stop for Sonny to puke, something they really don't have time for. _

"_Come on Sonny, show me that Texan fortitude. We need to move. Can't linger, especially not here."_

"_Just leave me here" the Texan whines belligerently and with no small measure of drama. _

_Clay rolls his eyes and then regrets it almost immediately when the world continues to rotate around him long after his eyes stop moving. _

_Clay grimaces, pausing to wipe the sweat of his brow and swallow the nausea that's starting to rise, hot and turbulent. _

_Maybe the gig is up. _

_Maybe it's time to face facts. _

_But it's certainly not ending here. Like this. _

_He wants to survive long enough to look back at the earlier events with regret. And there will be regret. A hell of a lot of regret for the decisions they made as a team, and then by themselves, that put them in the here and now where they have to deal with the consequences. The AAR is going to be nasty, if they even get back to partake in it. _

_Screw that. He's not ready to admit defeat yet and resolves to keep pushing on. They can make it. _

_Sonny, on the other hand seems to have a different opinion on the likelihood of their success and sinks lower to the ground than Clay thought was even possible. The texan_ _appears to be beyond any ability to help at this point._

_Fuck. _

"_Come on man. Up and at em. No giving up" _

_Jason is going to kill them. Blackburn too. Actually maybe the whole team will just take turns. _

_Angry caring. It's a weird paradox he's learned defines much of Bravo team. _

_There will be lectures. Probably some yelling _

_They won't live this down for a while if they live through it at all. _

_He digs deep and hauls the mostly limp man back up to his feet. It's precarious but he manages to keep them both upright after a few dangerous wobbles that threaten to send them both crashing down. _

_He staggers down the road, finding it harder and harder to focus on anything but putting one foot in front of the other. _

_Firmly fixes his destination in mind and puts all his force of will into getting there before it's too late, dragging his partner in crime along with him. _

_They just need to make it back to the team. The team will take care of this. Clay has learned to trust that these days. To appreciate being able to rely on something other than himself. _

_Right now though Sonny is relying on him. _

_And that weight is heavy. Almost as heavy as the 200 plus pound Texan draped over his neck. _

_He pauses to catch his breath and swallow carefully. Sonny takes the opportunity to try to slump down to the ground. _

_Oh no you don't._

_He tightens his hold and sets off again. _

_And then finally it's in view. _

_Their exfil point for this mission. _

_The promise of it being over. _

_He squints at his watch, trying to decipher and process the blurry numbers. Isn't only one hand supposed to move? _

_He thinks they still have time. They can still pass through without any trouble. _

_Just one more hurdle. _

_"Be cool Sonny, let me do all the talking" _

_Clay gives a nod to the guard, as they pass, nothing to see here. Nothing to see here at all. _

_Suddenly Sonny whispers, low and gravelly, and definitely not quietly._

_"Do you think he knows?" Before starting to cackle to himself at his own joke. _

_"Shut up" Clay hisses, and then once they are a safe distance away "Yes dumbass, I'm pretty sure he knew you were plastered."_

_Finally he reaches the barracks and rolls Sonny down onto his bed, positioning him on his side just in case. By the time he fills a glass of water with a clumsy hand and throws a few Tylenols down next to him Sonny is already snoring noisily. _

_Clay sinks down gratefully onto his own bunk on the other side of the room and closes his eyes only to groan a few seconds later when the room continues to spin beneath him. _

_He is having a hard time remembering why those shots seemed like a good idea at the time. And then the gin. _

_And the whiskey_

_Fuck was there a jagerbomb or two in there?_

_For that matter he's not sure why they didn't leave when the rest of the team called it a night an hour or two earlier. Probably would have been the smart decision. _

_Unlike the tequila they broke into at the end. That definitely wasn't a smart decision. _

_Fuck. _

_This one's going to hurt in the morning. _

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Now _that_ is the one part Sonny does remember**. **

The morning after certainly had hurt. Especially when Jason made them run the course an extra 3 times on top of their regular pt.

He groans, remembering vividly just how atrocious that was. He had ended up bent over puking his guts out behind a tire before making it anywhere near the end of the course.

"Yeah well, had to make sure we sent you off in style... And we made it back before curfew. No harm no foul… ok a little harm and a lot foul."

Clay smirks "Yeah no thanks to you. If it wasn't for me hauling your drunk ass back there would be yet another discipline in your jacket" he cracks his eyes open a shade to watch Sonny before continuing on " You know, I think the best man is supposed to get the groom plastered. Not the other way around."

Okay, that's a fair point but Sonny is pretty sure his actions were justified and has no problem pinning the blame back where it belongs.

"Well you weren't doing a good enough job. Someone had to take up the mantle to make sure you didn't kill the party."

"We were on deployment Sonny"

"Yeah and you are getting married soon. Who knew if we were going to have time for an actual stag on home turf. Gotta strike while the iron is hot and capitalize on the opportunities provided to you young padawan. Squeeze it on in there before we got too busy or you could go do something stupid like this" he gestures sweepingly over Clay's current predicament.

Clay considers that for a minute and then his eyes shoot fully open with a tangible panic almost equal to his initial injury.

"Shit! Stella is going to kill me for this"

Sonny's eyes drift down to the metal monstrosity digging into his leg and imagines the damage underneath and the months of rehab this promises. Yeah… the chances of Clay walking down the aisle in a few weeks probably aren't looking so good..

"I mean she had to know the odds were always pretty good that you would be broken in some way for the big day. She has met you after all. It was really just a toss up whether it would be a sling or crutches."

Clay doesn't seem entirely placated or amused by his logic but after a few seconds of thought he grimaces ruefully "I really don't have the best luck do I?"

"Absolutely abysmal"

Sonny's quick agreement gets him a frown and then a quiet chuckle that lasts for a moment before Clay shifts restlessly again.

"Maybe Summer will give me some of those crystals for my shoes."

"I think you need an entire leg pouch full, maybe two"

Clay lip quirks "Gotta have quick access to those baby's right?"

It takes Sonny a second but then he remembers back to their first deployment and to giving the kid shit over putting the C4 in his ruck instead of his leg pouch.

Sonny, shakes his head fondly at the stupid fight. One of many they used to have. Most of the time when they butt heads now it's purely for show or if not it's nothing that can't be hashed out over a beer, or two or five later on.

While he is reminiscing Clay's head slowly starts to bob, it tilts over lower and lower and finally comes down to rest on Sonny's shoulder

They stay that way for a moment and it's almost peaceful. The only disturbance is the violent shivers still wracking the younger man so strongly that Sonny can feel them too. Every time the kid starts to doze he ends up shaking himself awake when a particularly forceful shudder hits.

Enough with that.

Sonny reaches over and carefully slides the kid's torso adjusting until Clay is leaning back onto his chest rather than the packs. He wraps his arms around him and smothers him tightly in a big old Sonny bear hug. Appearances be damned Spenser needs some body heat.

Clay stiffens against his hold, stirring but not opening his eyes.

"Just take a break kid" he soothes. "Rest. I've got this watch".

For once Clay doesn't fight it and after a beat Sonny can feel him relax again, the shivers gradually easing as they sit there together.

He hears the team coming a mile away when they finally return. The crinkling leaves announcing their presence long before they announce themselves and Sonny has plenty of time to consider detangling himself from this hallmark moment. He ends up dismissing the notion since the kid just got comfortable not too long ago and deserves to sleep as long as possible until they have to start doing awful things to his leg again.

When the team approaches there are few raised eyebrows, a couple barely concealed grins, and one attempt to take a photo that gets aborted in a last minute appearance of good judgement.

Surprisingly none of that really bothers him like it probably should or definitely used to. There was a time not too long ago that he wouldn't have been caught dead in this position for several reasons. Today none of those reasons seem to matter much so he just tightens his hold on their sleeping rookie, lifts his chin defiantly and dares anyone to say one damn thing about it.

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_Well that took a while. And just kept growing and growing. So much so that there is another partial chapter that might become a final wrap up. So stay tuned and pray for spare time in my near future. _


	4. Chapter 4

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"Sonny just come sit down huh?"

"Sonny"

"Sonny, hey man come on".

Clay's voice slowly breaks through the fog and pulls his attention away from his panicked consideration of all the best ways to breach the doors currently separating him from where he needs to be.

He ignores the little gnat, letting the buzzing fade back into the background. Just another bug in the jungle to be ignored while he focuses on achieving his objective.

He has a prybar in the trunk, if he hits the hinges the whole door will come off.

Or maybe he just gets his hands on a breaching charge, goes straight for the real firepower. Minor detail that it will probably set off some fire alarms and maybe get him arrested for terrorism related charges.

Might be smarter to try to repossess an access card off of somebody walking by and hope they don't notice, or call security, or the police.

He finally decides on brute force. One strong strike to the area of weakness will get him access, consequences be damned.

He paces back, and then starts forward, angling his shoulder down Texas linebacker style, this puppy is going down.

A strong pull on his arm halts his momentum.

"You can't go in there." Clay reminds him, for the 5th or 6th or hell maybe 10th time since they've arrived.

"Watch me" he snarls without so much as glancing away from his target.

Clay doesn't back down and doesn't release his hold even as Sonny tries to shake free and then somewhat desperately pleads "I need to get in there."

Clay nods understandingly but continues to hold firm "I know man, but there's a good reason you can't go in there. They will come get you when they can. The best thing you can do for them is to _wait here." _ He tugs Sonny's arm hopefully in the direction of the chairs again.

Sonny has a hard time with that. Balks at the sheer absurdity of it.

The best thing.

There is no best in this situation

There's nothing good. No good outcome that he can see. Either way this goes there is going to be an unacceptable loss.

He tries to shrug off his friend, still determined to make entry. To do his job. If this is the last door he breaches in his life it will be worth it.

But Clay refuses to let go, pulling even more firmly back in the other direction,

"Come on man. You won't help the situation and you could make it worse."

Now he just rounds on Clay

"I'm fully cognent of that fact" he bites out tersly, rounding on the smaller man with all the fire he usually reserves for enemies down range.

But Clay doesn't look afraid, or repentant, instead he just looks...confused? And then his expression twists slightly, like he's stifling a laugh or coming up with his next one-liner. Sonny knows that expression well and the promise of mockery to follow. Except Clay doesn't say anything. Just tries to cover up the smirk and resume his previously serious expression

"What?"

"Nothing." Clay is quick to brush it off, which raises Sonny's hackles even more.

"What!"

"Seriously Sonny, it's nothing." Clay sits back down in his sea trying to force a neutral expression. What does he think Sonny can't handle a joke right now? Needs to be babied and handled with kid gloves? Thats bullshit.

"Clay for the love of… just spit it out"

Spenser looks at him appraising and then finally gives in to Sonny's exasperated pestering.

"It's just, I think You mean _cognizant_"

He stares at his friend incredulously, like he came from a different planet instead of just a different continent. Seriously? That's what he is focused on right now, in this moment? He is nit picking on grammar. Seriously?

He rolls his eyes dismissing this idiot in front of him and turning slightly back to his previous target. He gives another longing glance at the door, starting to reconsider what really would be the worst that could happen if he were to just push through it. As if Clay can read his thoughts his voice pipes in again and distracts him.

"Or did you maybe mean _conscious_? I think you mixed in a couple words there. Don't worry vocabulary is hard."

Unbelievable.

Sonny tears his gaze away from the door because its needed to glare at the smart ass with the shit eating grin he isn't even bothering to hide anymore.

"That's how we say it down south."

Clay audibly scoffs "Sure thing buddy."

'What do you know. You might know a billion languages but you don't know jack about your own."

"I'm googling it" Spenser pulls out his phone and the nerd is already typing, probably half way there with some dictionary app he has pre-installed

"You can't find these kinds of things on there they are passed down from generation to generation."

"Ok, play that card."

"It's not a card. It's a culture. One you or Mr. Google could never hope to understand." Sonny explains with an air of authority. He isn't going to take lessons on his roots from anybody, least of all Tarzan over there. If he wants a lesson on African jungles and tribal customs. Southern lifestyle…. please.

"Culture is fine wine and cheese not moonshine and illiterate grammar.

"Culture is in the eye of the beholder and it's only the uncultured with a superiority complex who fail to recognize it in others when they see it."

Sonny is proud of that retort, and takes satisfaction in the fact that Spenser doesn't seem to have a comeback to his amazing logic. Chalk one up for the uncultured illiterate Texan.

That satisfaction is short lived when his "amazing logic" continues on thinking things through and belatedly realizes that Clay has been purposefully baiting him all along in an effort to try and distract him from a poor decision waiting to happen. So who actually won here is up for debate because Sonny is in his seat and no possible felonies have been committed.

Son of a…

Sonny finds his coffee cup where he left it on the side table and lifts it to Clay in a salute that says _well played_ before taking a swig of very terrible, and now very cold, hospital coffee. He grimaces, remembering why he stopped drinking it in the first place, and sinks back into the uncomfortable chair to wait.

Clay gives him a half smile and nod of acknowledgment before slumping deeper into his own chair alongside him.

Silence falls and Sonny's gaze drifts back down to his hands, clasped tightly, knuckles turning white.

How can it take this long? Surely that can't be a good sign.

He swallows hard trying not to lose the coffee, or any of the food from dinner earlier on that is still swirling around in his churning gut. He deeply regrets that questionable Tuna melt he for some reason thought was a good idea at the time.

He can't help regretting right now a lot of things. The lack of certainty, the lack of promise.

You just always think you have more time.

That there will be time for it later.

That you don't need a piece of paper, or a piece of jewelry to solidify something

His hands that are shaking now despite his best efforts to push them together and force them to be still.

Sonny glares at them traitorously and then starts slightly when another steadier hand lands reassuringly on top of them.

"Sonny?"

He glances up to see Clay watching him worriedly. His voice catches but after a second he manages to get a word out.

"Yeah?"

"Its gonna be fine. They're gonna be fine"

He says it with all the certainty and that Sonny can't find right now. All he can do is nod and try to believe his friend. Try to latch onto the hope he is offering as a lifeline against all the other awful alternatives trying to pull him back down into despair.

'Mr Quinn?'

Sonny is on his feet in a second. Nervously watching a doctor in scrubs make his way through the room and scrutinizing him with more apprehension than a tango with his hands concealed.

"Mr Quinn?"

Sonny can't quite seem to find any words. Or make any sounds come out. He wanted to know but now he doesn't. Now he is terrified and wondering if ignorance is better than what could be coming. The fear paralyzes him and his vocal chords.

The doctor continues looking around, unsure, and searching through the few groups still waiting. Clay finally speaks up when it becomes clear Sonny isn't capable of finding his voice. "Over here, he's over here."

The doctor redirects over their way asking yet again "Mr Quinn?"

This time Sonny manages a nod.

The doctor takes a deep breath and he feels Clay step in closer behind him.

"Mamma is stable. We got the bleeding stopped and she is resting comfortably after a transfusion. We had to deliver baby a little earlier than we would like but she is a fighter and she is holding her own. We'll keep her in the NICU for a bit for some extra monitoring, make sure everything is working as it should."

Sonny's knees threaten to buckle.

Davis is ok. He didn't lose her. They didn't lose the baby.

A strong grip on his elbow steadies him and keeps him on his feet.

And then when his head stops swimming and his knees stop shaking, he clues into another important part of that message.

_She. _

The doctor said…. _She_.

He has a daughter.

They don't have anything ready for her yet. No names. No crib. No car seat. Hell they hadn't even decided on if they wanted to know the gender. Had plans to finally buckle down and get organized now that he was back from deployment. They thought they still had time. Then in a sudden moment of pain and blood Lisa collapsed along with his entire world at dinner. And suddenly, just like that he thought they had no time left. No more time ever.

But she is ok. And he has a daughter now…. A daughter.

He turns to Clay, who is beaming at the news and claps him on the back

"She… I have…."

"Mr Quinn I can take you to see them now."

Sonny is still trying to wrap his head around everything that's happened. Is overwhelmed with a desire to see Lisa and also shocked beyond comprehension at the sudden realization that just like that he has a daughter.

Clay draws him in for a quick, strong hug and then pushes him off and spins him around in the direction of the doctor. Giving him a nudge to get him moving.

"Go Daddy. Go see your girls. I'll be here"

_His girls._

Sonny stumbles along after the doctor. _His girls. _He could get used to hearing that.

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_Just a quick little one that I had no intention of writing but somehow got written just the same because I __couldn't__seem to move on to the next story idea with this little chunk just sitting there partially done. Unfortunately it ended up being a rather poorly timed post given the events of tonight's episode but hopefully an enjoyable wrap up to this one none the less._


End file.
